Page 40 of The Devilish Pleasures of a Duke

A disruption.

Emma breathed out a rueful sigh. A disruption would be defined as a cat chasing a squirrel up a tree, or one of the maids arguing with a butler. Adrian’s presence before a dozen or so sheltered debutantes was more akin to the heavens opening up to deposit a demigod in their youthful midst.

Gasps. Squeals. She lifted one hand in annoyance to quelch this little rebellion. “Control yourselves, please. A young lady does not twitter at the sight of a gentleman.”

But what a gentleman.

She was discombobulated herself at his appearance. He’d strolled across the grass with long-boned grace, his artless beauty enhanced by his white Irish linen shirt, tight buff pantaloons, and well-worn boots. That his short dark-wheat hair appeared a little disheveled only enhanced his devilish appeal. Beautiful pagan. Her secret lover. Oh, how he made her ache for the forbidden.

Try as she might, Emma could not discourage the girls from staring at him. Unfortunately, she had a hard time ignoring him herself. It did not help matters that he was staring quite frankly at her. Grinning with genuine delight, in fact. She shook her head, apprehension muddling her wits. What on earth did he think he was doing?

If she didn’t know better, she would think he was smitten with her. But didn’t scoundrels always play their games with such conviction? Half their pleasure came not from the conquest but from the pursuit.

After all, he had admitted he was not inclined to heal the rift with his father in any great hurry. Could a man who had lived as he ever be content with the quiet life of gentility that Emma envisioned for herself? He decided he could.

But could she be content with him.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said. “I was dying for some exercise.” He waved his arms about in a physical way. “Fresh air, you know. Nothing like it.”

She managed to nod. “Yes. However, we were in the middle of a lesson on—” Adrian’s arrival appeared to have sent every thought out of her head. “On the correct form of etiquette should one ever be invited to a foreign court.”

“A subject close to my heart,” he said gravely.

Emma regarded him blankly for several moments. Was he trying to impress her? Could he possibly be as sweet as he seemed? “Indeed. Anyway, as I was about to explain to my students, the wife of a foreign ambassador shares her husband’s rank. Therefore, she should be announced after his entry at an entertainment—”

“What if he’s late?” Miss Butterfield asked in a worried voice. “My father never arrives anywhere on time.”

“She will wait for him,” Emma replied. “Now, let us continue to the order of seating.”

“Lord Wolverton was a foreign diplomat, wasn’t he?” one of the girls cried in excitement. “Perhaps he could enlighten us on diplomatic society, Lady Lyons.”

Emma’s eyebrows arched at that suggestion. She met Adrian’s wry regard for a moment. She doubted that diplomatic society counted a disreputable English mercenary in its elite ranks. “I believe Lord Wolverton was more acquainted with—”

He shrugged modestly. “I don’t mind sharing my knowledge. I had to break the news once to the occupants of a harem that their master had been slain in an uprising. Granted, this is not a situation any of you young ladies are likely to encounter.”

“One trembles at the thought,” Emma murmured.

“He was a rajah,” Adrian added, his eyes twinkling.

“Did he own tigers?” Harriet asked.

“Yes. And they escaped after his death.”

“I do not see how this is an example of foreign diplomacy,” Emma said, terrified at what he would reveal next.

“Well, I was getting to that,” Adrian replied. “We had to get the rajah’s closest relative on the throne before we had a bloody revolt on our hands. And if you think that doing so was easy in a palace overrun with hungry tigers and weeping women, you don’t know what diplomacy really is.”

Emma glanced around in dismay; Adrian held thrall over an enrapt audience if ever she had seen one. The girls were hanging on his every shocking word. As she had been. She would indeed have enjoyed hearing more colorful stories from his past, but in private. An adventurer. What did he see in proper Emma Boscastle? Would she become one of his wicked little stories?

She surged to her feet. “Thank you so very much for that elucidating perspective, Lord Wolverton. As it is a social challenge my students will hopefully never face, as you yourself pointed out, I suggest we return to our more mundane instruction. Can anyone tell me the correct form of address for a French ambassador’s wife?”

Harriet stood up. “May I ask a question of his dukeship?”

“No,” Emma said quickly, “you may not.”

“What I want to know,” Harriet continued, “is what a girl has to do to marry a duke.”

The other pupils gasped in ill-concealed delight at this forward inquiry.